The Length of Our Shadows
by Southern Hearts
Summary: AU Shasta never escapes with Bree and now faces slavery, but destiny likes staying on course. Across the desert, a young prince begins dreaming of a lost brother and a High King prepares for war in the north. Amid multiple escapes, illegal horse races and outrunning armies, will Shasta ever find his place in the world?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story will brush up on a few mature themes, such as slavery and forced marriage. I will try to keep them as mild as possible, but please be advised if you are sensitive to these. There will also be some mild violence, but otherwise nothing explicit.

This is in essence a reimagining of 'The Horse and His Boy,' and although it will keep many of the canon events, it completely disregards the canon timeline.

Happy reading!

 _Everywhere the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by these shadows._

\- Harriet Ann Jacobs

 **Forty Crescents**

The journey to Andradin's home was not pleasant.

The night before was blurry. Shasta remembered sneaking out to make his escape with Bree. Then there was scuffling and pain in the back of his head. He heard Arsheesh cursing at him just before darkness took him, sure of only one thing. _He had failed._

In the morning, Shasta had woken up with his head still ringing from the blow Arsheesh had dealt him. He panicked as the memories of the previous night came flooding into his mind and jumped to his feet.

Or at least, he tried to jump to his feet.

He gave a sharp cry as he fell backwards, not having realized his arms and legs were bound tightly with rope. He landed painfully on his side and was sure that he had bruised his hip in the fall. Ignoring the pain, he struggled for a few minutes, the impending danger clear in his mind. They had tied him up to prevent him escaping!

Craning his head, he was able to look out the small slit in the wall that acted as a window. The pale, grey light of early morning was starting to sneak in. He didn't have much time! He had to get to Bree!

He tried biting at the ropes, but they were thick and the knot too strong for him to work it out on his own. His wrists were starting to chafe as he struggled, rubbing painfully against the rough texture of the ropes. Shasta had been a fisherman all his life and he knew a well-tied knot when he saw one. This was perhaps one of Arsheesh's crowning glories.

He heard movement in the house.

Miserably, Shasta stopped struggling and listened, knowing that any moment Arsheesh and the Tarkaan would be coming for him. It was too late. Even if he somehow managed to free himself from the ropes before they came to get him, there was no way he would be able to get to Bree and away in time.

His heart began to sink and real fear rose up in his throat, like bile.

He tried to calm down; telling himself that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the Tarkaan would take pity on him, or grow to like him.

But the moment Arsheesh and the Tarkaan entered the room and he saw the cold, harsh look in his eyes, Shasta knew his hopes were pointless.

"Ready the boy," the Tarkaan said, his voice clipped, "We'll be leaving soon. Keep his hands bound. There will be no repeat of last night."

"Yes, yes, of course," Arsheesh was hasty to say, bowing his old head to his guest, "I'll do so immediately."

The Tarkaan nodded, giving Shasta one last cold look and marched out again.

Arsheesh gave Shasta another clout to the ear and scolded him for embarrassing his poor father, who had raised him, fed him and nurtured him for twelve years.

Shasta, tears burning in his eyes from being hit, managed to glare at Arsheesh.

"You are not my father," he said quietly, defiantly.

Arsheesh hit him again.

It didn't hurt as much this time. Shasta looked at the man he had called his father all his life and felt…nothing. He found this odd. He should feel betrayed, angry, sad…something. But it was like Arsheesh's last blow had severed whatever regard he had felt for the fisherman. Instead, Shasta felt oddly calm and somewhat detached from the scene.

For much of his life, he had tried to win this man's love. For a time, he had even deluded himself into thinking he had it. But if Arsheesh felt anything for Shasta, he wouldn't be doing this to him.

"You will obey your master well," Arsheesh was saying while he worked to free Shasta's legs, "His favour is the only thing you will live for."

He spoke the words shortly, his old voice as clipped as ever. Shasta wriggled his bare feet as the ropes fell away, saying nothing and refusing to look at the fisherman. The feeling of detachment was still there. He could feel the fear in his own mind still, but it was like a curtain had been drawn, blocking it from view. Arsheesh hauled him roughly to his feet and made him walk, gripping his arm in a painful pinch. Shasta had to bite down on a cry as the bony fingers dug into his flesh.

When they got outside, Bree was saddled and the Tarkaan was already mounted. His red beard looked darker in the dim light of morning and he was fingering his sword as he watched Shasta and Arsheesh. Bree pawed the ground, shaking his man out anxiously. The dapple-grey stallion turned sad eyes on Shasta. As Arsheesh and the Tarkaan spoke briefly, the fisherman making scraping bows and accepting a bag of money, Shasta shot the horse a small, brave smile.

 _I'll be alright_ , he tried to tell him, _its okay_.

Then he felt a tug on his wrists and realized the Tarkaan was going to lead him by a rope the entire journey. His smile faded immediately and trepidation filled him. Bree's words the previous night rang in his head.

 _You'd better be lying dead tonight than go to be a human slave in his house tomorrow._

As he was led along, walking behind Bree and the Tarkaan, he shot one look back to the small hovel he had spent his entire life in. Arsheesh had his back to them now and the sun had risen completely, shining brightly over the ocean. Feeling another tug, Shasta was forced to turn his face away from the sunlight and follow.

 **~:~**

For days they traveled, Shasta struggling to keep up with the pace. Bree seemed to be trying to help him, slowing down as much as he could before the Tarkaan whipped his hide with a long, leather wrapped stick. Once, he struck the stallion so hard that blood was drawn on his rear. But Bree maintained his slower walk.

"Useless animal!" Shasta heard the Tarkaan snarl, "What has tired you so?"

And Shasta became afraid for Bree. What if the Tarkan decided to hurt Bree more, or get rid of him because he was not acting as he should? Shasta knew little of horses, but he suspected they were not kept long if they couldn't earn their keep. What if Bree's kindness had unintended consequences?

It was on their third night of travel that Shasta had a chance to talk with Bree again. The Tarkaan had led them to an inn and tied Shasta up in Bree's stall. His feet were left unbound; though they hurt so much Shasta wasn't sure he would be able to escape on them if he tried. The end of the rope was tied to a metal ring in the wall, usually used for tethering horses. There was enough length for him to move around the stall a bit, but not by much. The Tarkaan provided the boy with some stale bread for his supper and unceremoniously poured water for him to drink. Shasta cupped his still bound hands and tried to drink as much as he could before the Tarkaan left him there with strict orders to the stable hand not to let him escape. He was still thirsty and the bread hardly seemed to fill the void in his stomach, but most of all, Shasta was exhausted. He settled into the straw though and waited for a change to talk to Bree. Before long, the stable doors were locked and bolted and the lights put out.

"Shasta? Shasta are you alright?"

In the dim light cast by the moon, Shasta could just make out the massive shape of Bree's head.

"Yes," he croaked, his mouth still dry and began to express his fears to Bree. The horse listened in silence and shook his head violently.

"The cruel, heartless man!" Bree cut him off, "Never you mind about me, I've dealt with this for years and I can deal with it some more. I shan't let you suffer anymore than I have to. Oh Shasta, I am sorry it turned out like this."

"It's alright," the boy said bravely, too tired to do anything more, "It's not your fault. Will you tell me of Narnia again, Bree? I should very much like to hear it."

He felt Bree blow into his face and come to lay next him, letting the boy use him for a pillow. Shasta was grateful. He had been sleeping on the ground and feeling the chill of the night. Bree was soft and warm. He closed his eyes as Bree started to tell him about mountains and talking beasts. Before he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard a voice that was not Bree's. It seemed to fill his mind for a moment, like a long forgotten memory. A sad and sweet memory, the kind that would bring a tear to the eye, for it sounded so mournful, but so filled with love.

" _Rest, little one_."

 **~:~**

Bree nuzzled the sleeping boy gently. It was an hour before dawn and the stable hand was back to feed and water the horses. He knew his master would be along later, no doubt having taken drink in the inn as he was wont to do.

He watched Shasta's face and let out a very strained sigh.

Shasta might not believe it was his fault, but Bree certainly did. Had he been quicker or quieter, perhaps they would have managed to escape. But now the boy was a slave, just like him. This poor, simple little boy who had never been nurtured, never had a kind word thrown his way, but still smiled bravely and was concerned with Bree's wellbeing.

He _humbled_ the warhorse.

Bree took stock of the boy's bare feet, now scuffed and blistered from all the running he had done the past few days. There were fresh rips in his already ragged clothes and Bree could see bloodstains from all the times he had fallen and scrapped himself in the dirt. Worse were the bruises. Some caused by those same falls, the others from hits the Tarkaan had dealt the boy for slowing him down. His left cheek had a particularly nasty one, all yellow and green. On his pale face, it looked even worse. There were dark circles under his eyes and his lips were chapped badly too. Bree knew the boy was exhausted and dehydrated.

And he knew this was being done as punishment for his small act of rebellion.

This was how they broke down a spirit. This was how they turned men into slaves.

Bree knew because this was how they broke horses sometimes, especially the most willful. They exhausted them, starved them and dehydrated them. They took everything away and made them dependent on their new masters for those things that sustained life. If the horse didn't break, he died.

Bree sometimes wondered if that wasn't a mercy.

He had been taken as a foal and had become too afraid to disobey his supposed masters. Unlike his dumb brethren, Bree had watched and learned. He had adapted quickly. He had assimilated in the hopes that they would never discover the secret of his origin. For what fate awaited him then? To be sold as a piece of entertainment? Killed for being some kind of unholy beast? He couldn't take the chance.

With all the battles he had seen in his life, Bree had never considered himself a coward before. He had dreamt of escape, but knew a different hand would only take him if he tried. So he never tried, the fear of failing too great. Even with this boy on his back, escape was a great gamble. But when Bree had seen the young soul, something inside had urged him. Something had told him he had to try this time.

And now this.

He did not want to watch this young foal be broken. He did not want to see that brave smile fade away. Perhaps he was a coward for not rebelling long ago, but he would become braver. For this boy, he would become braver.

"Don't let them break your spirit, Shasta," he pleaded in a quiet murmur, " _Please_."

A sharp, metal clang rang through the stable, making Shasta's eyes snap open. A bleary, green gaze turned to Bree, clearly still trapped somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

"Its just the stable hand," the horse whispered, "I won't be able to speak to you for much longer. We're only another day away from Anradin's home, can you hold on that long?"

Shasta nodded, managing to sit up.

"Good," Bree noticed the boy was licking his cracked lips, "Now, before the stable hand comes. Can you make it to the water trough? You need to drink something at least."

Shasta nodded, but it took a few gentle pushes from Bree and some struggling on his part to make it to the trough. When he did, the boy practically dumped his whole blonde head into the water, drinking greedily. Bree watched, ready to fetch him out if he did not resurface soon.

Shasta's head suddenly bopped out and he threw up at the side, coughing and crying. Bree moved forward immediately.

"Easy, easy," he tried to calm the boy down softly, "You'll be alright, just take it slower."

Shasta calmed down after a few minutes and nodded, tears still streaming down his face. He did as he was told and used his cupped hands to scoop out more water and drink what he could. When he was done, he turned to Bree.

"I feel sick," he admitted softly and sniffed, "I'm scared Bree."

Bree's heart ached for the young foal and he gently nudged the boy with his nose, no longer saying anything for fear of the stable hand now being too close. Shasta buried his face in Bree's neck and started crying, his bound hands reaching up to grip at Bree's fur. The horse didn't mind, knowing the boy needed comfort above all else.

"I dreamt of Narnia," Shasta hiccupped, "We'll go there someday, won't we Bree?"

The horse broke his silence, dropping his voice to the level bellow a whisper and hoped Shasta could hear.

"Yes," he promised, "To Narnia and the north."

He prayed for it, by the Lion he prayed for it.

They were brought back to reality by a sharp, irritable voice.

"I won't have you manhandling her!" the voice was young and female, "Now saddle her correctly, my father and I are leaving within the hour."

Shasta looked up curiously and before Bree could stop him, had limped over to the stall door, clearly still working out stiff muscles. He peaked his head over the door to see who was ordering things about so early. Bree trotted over and did the same.

A young, pointy faced girl stood there with her arms crossed as she bossed around the man tending to her horse, a gentle looking bay mare. Suddenly, there was the sound of a cat's strangled _meow_ from somewhere near Bree's stall, though he couldn't see where the offending creature was. Shasta gave a start and banged his knee against the wooden door, hissing with pain. The noises made the girl jerk round, drawing her attention to them.

"You there!" she exclaimed, "What are you looking at? Who are you?"

Bree and Shasta jerked back out of sight, but it was too late. The girl had come over to investigate.

"Whatever are you doing in there? And your face! How dirty!" she asked, poking her pointy face over the stall door. Her gaze fell on Shasta's bound hands and her mouth opened in understanding, "Oh I see, you're a slave."

"Don't call me that!" Shasta snapped, surprising Bree a little with his vehemence.

The girl glared at him, looking down her nose.

"And why ever not?" she said imperiously, "That's what you are, isn't it?"

"What would you know?" Shasta ground out, clearly not liking her in the slightest, "You're just a girl!"

"And you're just a stupid, rude boy! I am a Tarkeena," the girl snapped back, her pointy face becoming pinched, "A slave should know how to address me better! I should have your master beat you for insolence!"

Bree pushed down his own temper, not sure how best to interfere. He considered simply moving between Shasta and the Tarkeena, but the boy spoilt this plan by limping his way right up to the girl and facing her over the stall door.

"I am a person!" he growled.

This seemed to surprise the Tarkeena, for her dark eyes went wide suddenly and she stared at him in silence. She seemed to look at Shasta properly then, scanning over him like a falcon on its prey.

"You're crying," she said calmly.

Bree could only see the back of Shasta's head from where he was, but he didn't doubt the girl's observation. Shasta's ears had gone red and he was trying to wipe his face on his torn sleeve.

"I am not!" he cried stubbornly.

The Tarkeena didn't say anything, only began to rummage in the small bag she had hanging from her side. She took something out and reached over the stall door.

"Here," the girl said curtly, "You can eat this I suppose."

She thrust a small, cloth wrapped parcel into his hands. He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"It's just some dried meat and fruit," she said, suddenly looking uncomfortably, "I was going to have it as a snack on the road, but you look like you're about to try some of that horse's straw!"

"But-but-" Shasta stammered, looking down at it.

"It's just a snack," she sniffed, "And you can use the cloth to wipe your face when you're done."

Without another word, she turned away from him.

"I-" Shasta shook himself and called, "Thank you!"

She didn't give any indication that she had heard him. It didn't matter, as Bree silently thanked the young Tarkeena for her kindness, he cheered at the small smile on Shasta's face.

 **~:~**

The rest of the journey passed in much the same way.

The Tarkeena's food turned out to be a blessing, for Anradin did not feed Shasta the entire day. He had eaten half of the dry goods in the morning before the Tarkaan had come, waiting until he was asleep to eat a little more. Every muscle in Shasta's body ached and his feet felt like they were going to fall off. He'd been slow to start today and had been whipped across the face. He could still feel the sting from where his skin had split.

It took another day before they reached Anradin's home.

Even in his exhaustion, Shasta found himself gaping at the sight. It was a palace, surely! They walked up a dusty path, olive trees planted in groves on either side. He could see men working around them, picking the small fruits from low laying boughs and tossing them into sacks. They fell to the ground as Anradin passed, bowing to their master. Ahead, Shasta caught a glimpse of high, white stonewalls and could hear the rush of water. A river, perhaps.

There were people around, some dressed in white and others in brown tunics. Shasta flinched at the cowed, fearful expressions on their faces. He was led through to the stables, where Anradin barked instructions to scurrying servants and Shasta found himself being taken away. Away from Bree. They freed his hands and stripped him of everything he wore. His old clothes and the bit of cloth the food from the Tarkeena had been wrapped in were all taken away and burned. Buckets of cold water were thrown over Shasta and he was scrubbed from head to foot. One of the men went about looking at his wounds and applying a stinging medicine to them. Shasta gasped and shivered, completely humiliated by the whole experience.

He was given clothes to wear. Like the other slaves, this consisted of a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. They were loose and made from plain, brown linen. It was probably the finest thing Shasta had ever worn, he realized with no small sense of irony.

They gave him a pair of leather bound sandals too, which felt odd on feet that had gone barefoot most of their lives.

They cut his hair short, slicing off the blonde curls with a knife. When Shasta reached up to feel, he found only an inch or so of growth had been left.

The slice on his cheek from Anradin's whip stung the worst. The man applying salve had taken one look at it and shaken his head.

"That'll scar," he told Shasta gruffly, "No helping it."

Shasta just shrugged, that was the least of his worries.

He tried not to flinch when the man, a Calormene servant named Abdar, had to stitch up the wound. He was tall, willowy, with a greying beard, and tired looking brown eyes. He wore a white turban and had a walking stick set at his side. When he spoke, his voice slurred every other word.

Shasta eyes were darting around, trying to take everything in. His body felt hot and ashamed, wanting nothing more than to hang his head or start crying again. Abdar was explaining what behavior would be expected from him.

"How old are you?" he asked, his tone crisp.

"Twelve," Shasta answered quietly.

Abdar nodded, his lips becoming slightly pinched.

"You'll start work in the kitchens or the stables for now," he said, "Doing errands, cleaning, that sort of thing. When you're a bit older, the Tarkhan will decide where to put you. If you're well behaved and biddable, you might stay in the household. If you make trouble, you'll be sent to work out in the fields. You don't want that, understand?"

It was a warning and Shasta could only nod, too afraid to do anything else.

"Never look the Tarkaan in the eyes, don't speak unless you're spoken to and obey immediately," Abdar continued, "You'll never leave the grounds on your own or without permission. If you're working in the household, keep yourself clean and presentable at all times. Don't get in anyone's way or make trouble. You bow when a Tarkaan or a Tarkeena enters a room and keep your head down until you're needed. Your life is not your own anymore. If you want to live well here, you must work hard and be obedient. Is that clear?"

Shasta had to lick his lips before answering. The more Abdar spoke, the lower he felt. Tears stung his eyes and threatened to fall.

"Y-yes," he managed, throat oddly tight.

Abdar's face softened a little and he gave Shasta a pat on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine, lad," he said quietly, "Now go, someone will see you fed."

Shasta nodded quickly and left the older man, wondering if he really would be.

A thin, mean looking woman from the kitchen gave him some bread and a bowl of stew. Shasta practically gulped down the meal, having barely eaten the past few days. After he had eaten, he was taken to back to Anradin to be looked over.

The red bearded Calormene was freshly dressed and smelled strongly of scented oils. As he stepped closer, the scent tickled Shasta's nose, making him want to sneeze. He held very still though, his stomach twisting in knots of fear.

"Now, what to do with you," Anradin said, looking him over, "You're paler under all that dirt. The fairest barbarian I've seen in a long time."

Shasta bit the inside of his cheeks to stop from saying anything. He had learned on their trip together that the slightest utterance of sound was enough to bring the Tarkaan's wrath on him. He kept his eyes downcast as Abdar had said and tried not to flinch when Anradin touched his face.

"So you've finally learned your place, dog," Anradin sounded amused, running his fingers to the cut on Shasta's cheek and pressing down, hard, "I'll keep reminding you of it, lest you forget again."

Shasta clenched his teeth and tried not cry out as a flash of pain seared from the spot. Tears stung his eyes, but he still didn't move.

Eventually, after what seemed an age, the pressure was removed. His check throbbed and he could feel the warm trickle of blood gliding down his face. He dared not reach up though; he didn't even look to see if Anradin had blood on his fingers now.

"My horse seemed to like you," the Tarkaan said, sounding thoughtful, "Perhaps you have a natural affinity for them. Can you ride?"

Shasta shook his head.

"A pity," the Tarkaan mused, "I should have liked to see a barbarian on a horse. Perhaps I shall give you a mule to ride and have you trained like the jesters at Tashban."

Shasta didn't know what a 'jester' was, but he didn't like the sound of it, especially in the mocking way the Tarkaan spoke.

"Hmm, yes!" the Tarkaan gave a laugh, seeming pleased by the idea, "A barbarian made to do tricks and act the fool. It would amuse me greatly!"

The laughter died down and Anradin started to talk again. He told Shasta that, for now, he would be sent to work in the stables. Shasta felt relieved, hoping at least that he would be close to Bree. Before he was dismissed though, Anradin had one last thing to say. One last blow to cow his barbarian slave boy.

"I paid a pretty fortune for you boy," the Tarkaan sneered, "Especially to that fisherman scum! Forty crescents. And I'll have my worth out of you, if I have to beat it out! You are mine now, my _dog_."

He boxed Shasta on the ear once and strode away.

That night, in the dark, lying on a hard mat and surrounded by several other bodies, Shasta wept. The pain of the day and the reality of his situation setting in. He had been _sold_. Like a fish at the market, he had been exchanged for a few pieces of coin.

 _Forty crescents._

The cost of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Apologies for the delay! Many thanks for the reviews!

Happy Reading!

 _I have come to believe that there are infinite passageways out of the shadows, infinite vehicles to transport us into the light._

\- Martha Beck

 **The Astronomer**

The next few weeks of Shasta's life were not altogether happy, but they were no harder than his life under Arsheesh. He was put under the supervision of the Groom, a wiry, short-tempered man who had only ever given Shasta a few rough shoves. He always kept a switch in his hand, a not too subtle threat that he didn't tolerate disobedience.

Being used to tending to Arsheesh's old donkey and taking all the scattered advice he could glean from Bree, Shasta did not find it overly difficult adjusting to the life of a stable hand. And after one of the horses became ill during the night, Shasta was now expected to sleep in the stables and always be on hand. It took him away from the cramped little room he had been sleeping in his first few nights. A room he'd had to share with eight other slaves.

As it was, Shasta was given an old blanket and had found himself a cozy place in the straw to lay his head. It was a little prickly at first, but warm and quiet. The soft snorts and brays of the horses were the only sound to rock Shasta to sleep.

He was also expected to run errands, and these he dreaded above all else. This was because they would often take him within reach of Anradin.

The Tarkaan kept to his word of reminding Shasta about his place and often had a kick or a punch reserved for his newest slave. Shasta had learned the hard way never to try and avoid a blow or defend himself. The one time he tried had resulted in an awful beating.

Bree would scowl and huff whenever Shasta came in with a new bruise, but of course could rarely say anything until it was so late at night, Shasta was already asleep from exhaustion.

There were several other horses in the stables. They included a fine mare, chestnut in colour, who liked it when Shasta brushed her down in the evenings, an old farm horse, taller than the tallest man Shasta had ever seen and four almost identical white horses that were trained to pull a chariot. Out in the kraal, a young, ebony stallion that had not yet been broken stood, as tall and proud as any warhorse. He was Shasta's favourite, though he was rough and aggressive to anyone who approached. Shasta would just stare at him sometimes, oddly drawn to the stallion's all too pensive gaze.

Shasta's routine was almost always the same. He'd rise before dawn to tend to the horses, usually taking them for an early morning walk across the fields and along the large lake that provided a backdrop to the Tarkaan's palace. There on the banks, they were allowed to graze and Shasta could eat the pieces of dried meat and apple he'd been given for his breakfast. The mornings were fresh and cool with dew dampening the grass beneath Shasta's feet. He'd look out onto the lake as the sun broke the sky, light stretching across the world as dawn awakened.

The lake was a crystal blue expanse that seemed to stretch over for miles on either side. There were other estates along the lakefront, but none as large or as grand as the one Shasta was confined to. A couple of the stable hands, all much older than Shasta, would take turns riding the horses along the lakeside to give them their exercise for the day. Then they'd sit and eat their meal together before returning to work once more. It was an oddly peaceful time and although the stable hands ignored him for the most part, Shasta enjoyed it.

When Bree was exercised, Shasta had to help saddle and strap heavy armoured pieces to the horse. This was to train the horse's agility and balance, the Groom said, checking Shasta's work when he was done. Arash – Bree's Calormene name – must always be prepared for battle, he drilled. With all his tack and armour, Shasta thought Bree looked very grand indeed.

"Well of course I do," Bree had preened one evening they'd been alone to talk, "I'm a war horse, after all."

He'd looked Shasta over then, his eyes thoughtful.

"Stand up straight, child!" he suddenly barked, "Don't slouch your shoulders and make yourself small like that. You'll be a man soon and men have pride in themselves."

"But Bree-" Shasta started.

"Don't let them break you," there was almost a quiver in the destrier's voice, "Don't let them make you less than what you are. You have northern blood in you, wear it proudly!"

And Shasta had to smile sadly.

"There, there," the warhorse said softly, "Chin up, Shasta my lad. We'll escape yet, you have my word."

Bree said it often, but Shasta wasn't so sure anymore. He'd had a chance to scout around since his arrival. It might have been different if they'd managed to get away at Arsheesh's house. There, the Tarkaan would have no means of retrieving them. But here he had men and enough horse to track them down before Shasta and Bree could put significant distance between them. There was a high price for runaway slaves and Shasta knew he and Bree would stick out like sore thumbs.

Bree spent the rest of that evening telling Shasta all about the battles he'd been in.

With Bree there to make the nights less solitary, his existence was more bearable. It was dreadfully lonely otherwise. The other slaves hardly spoke and the servants more than often turned their noses up at him. There was no one his age, the next youngest being a boy of seventeen who was clearly upset about Shasta's position in the stables. He did his best to shove into Shasta and glare at him whenever they passed.

But Shasta didn't let it get to him; he concentrated on keeping out of Anradin's way and doing his best in the stables. He remembered Abdar's words at the onset of his enslavement and decided it was much safer to _heed_ those words. He liked the stables and he didn't want to be separated from Bree.

Bree, on the other hand, seemed to take Shasta's complacency as defeat. He wasn't about to let that happen!

He started with instructing Shasta how to saddle him in the dead of night, making him practice over and over until he could do it quickly and accurately. Then they'd walk up and down the stable together, teaching Shasta how to sit and grip properly with his knees. As time passed, the Groom began to notice Shasta's apparent 'affinity' for the animals and 'natural' seat. There were only half a dozen stable workers and each had some rudimentary riding skill, the best were used to help train the horses.

Shasta was small and light, perfect for many of the tasks required. He'd been tried on a horse the first day of his work in the stables and had done miserably. With Bree's help, he improved gradually, until finally he could ride with some relative ease. After that, he was expected to exercise the horses along with the other stable hands.

It seemed like Shasta had passed some kind of unspoken test. The first time he clambered up onto a horse's back with the other stable hands – he was given the gentle mare to ride – he received words of advice.

"Start her off at a walk, boy," one said, easing into pace beside him on another horse.

"There's a trail up ahead," another said, "To the left. We'll take it round the fields, be sure to give her a chance to stretch her neck. But don't yank the reins! There we go!"

It carried on like that. As the days went on, Shasta grew more confident. Bree would give a report on his progress every evening. All the while, everything the warhorse told him, was ultimately to aid them in their journey to Narnia. Bree seemed to want to keep the hope of escape alive no matter what.

And Shasta, despite himself, started to hope again, just a little bit.

 **~.~**

It wasn't long before Shasta learned that he wasn't living in Anradin's home _at all!_ But rather, the property still belonged to the Tarkaan's father, Badr, and would do so until his death. Anradin usually lived in a city house in Calavar with his wife, but since her death in childbirth a year before had been residing in his father's home. Shasta was surprised to learn the older Tarkaan would soon be returning after a trip to visit his eldest son, Anradin's brother, who lived on an estate of his own further south.

It was like a cloud had been lifted from the house. The servants started smiling, the guards were borderline friendly and even the slaves seemed to cheer. Anradin, on the other hand, was twice as ill tempered as usual. Shasta asked Bree about it.

"Badr is a better man than his son," Bree looked a little uncertain though, "But I shouldn't keep my hopes up Shasta, Anradin may well decide to depart to his town house, taking us along with him!"

"He did just lose his wife and child," Shasta put in, "Maybe that's why he's so mean?"

Bree snorted.

"I doubt it," the warhorse said in a disgusted tone, "He treated his wife little better than a slave. Poor woman."

Shasta didn't think he wanted to know.

It was the sad truth in Calormen that women, even Tarkheenas, were regarded as little more than property themselves. They went from their fathers' homes to their husbands' with little else taken into account except for the size of their dowries. Having been sold himself, Shasta knew the feeling wasn't a good one.

Shasta didn't think much else about this news – after all, it didn't affect him – and carried on as usual.

He was wrong.

The party arrived late one morning as Shasta was feeding Bree. He was very suddenly called out along with the rest of the workers to greet the returning Tarkaan. They huddled into the courtyard outside the palace and knelt down as the horses came through. There were at least six. Coming up not far behind them was a large cart, heavy with crates and drawn by a pair of oxen. Shasta hazarded a glance up as the riders dismounted.

Anradin was there to greet them, dressed as finely as Shasta had ever seen him, his crimson beard well oiled and groomed. He spread his arms dramatically, approaching one of the men who had just dismounted.

The Tarkaan Badr – _for it could only be him!_ \- was as tall as his son and had clearly been a warrior in his youth. He was more willowy now, his black beard having turned grey and an old war wound forcing him to limp with a cane. He was dressed simply and moved like he was always ready to pounce.

The two men embraced, patting one another on the back for a moment before drawing apart. Shasta thought Anradin's smile looked forced, but then, he wasn't really accustomed to the Tarkaan wearing a real smile.

"O my son!" Badr cried, smiling fondly, "I am pleased to see you safe from battle!"

"Yes, O my father," Anradin returned in his flowery speech, proceeding to sing his father's praises, though Shasta thought the gesture seemed well practiced and not the least bit sincere.

Badr smiled good-naturedly nonetheless. Though they had the same eyes and the same face, Shasta thought there was something softer about Badr.

There was a scuffling, which attracted the attention of all assembled as a disgruntled voice suddenly rang out.

"Be careful, you great lummox! That's sensitive equipment in those crates!"

A crash.

"I told you! Of all the bloody-"

"Magnus!" Badr called out over the voice, "Magnus! Come and meet my son."

There was some movement from behind the horses and cart. A man finally stepped out, coming to stand beside the older Tarkaan.

Shasta _stared_.

The man beside Badr was as pale as he was dark. Shasta found himself gaping slightly, never having seen a person more similar to himself in colouring than the Calormene. The man – Magnus - had salt and pepper hair, which was shoulder length and stuck up in all directions. His beard was short, but just as scruffy, which only served to eventuate his very long, crooked nose and he had a rather piercing pair of sky blue eyes.

Shasta had never seen anyone with blue eyes before.

His clothes were different too, more colourful. He wore a long, midnight blue waistcoat over a dark shirt and green breeches. There was a cap on his head, which made a valiant, if futile, effort to contain the chaos of his hair and he had an odd contraption hanging about his neck. It looked like it was made from wire and glass. When he approached Anradin, he placed the odd thing on his face, pushing it up onto his nose. He blinked, his blue eyes magnified by two pieces of glass.

"Well hello!" he announced jovially, extending a hand to Anradin, "Pleasure to finally meet you, young man."

The young Tarkaan looked like he'd rather wrestle a crocodile than touch Magnus' outstretched hand. But he did it, his eyes all the time on his father.

Badr's own hawk like gaze narrowed, but the smile stayed on his face.

"Magnus, my friend," he said, "Let me have a man show you to your rooms. Then perhaps you will join us for refreshments in an hour?"

"Ah yes, of course," Magnus said absently, as though he hadn't noticed the tension coming off Anradin in the slightest, "My man and I will get settled in then. Come along Fezile! Lets make sure they don't destroy too much of my equipment."

A giant of a man followed Magnus up the steps. He was at least a head taller than the tallest man Shasta had ever seen. Why, he could probably have given the old farm horse a run for his money in that category. How he had remained hidden in the crowd of horses and crates was a mystery. And as pale as Magnus was, this man was _dark_. Even darker than the Calormene. His head was shaved and he had three, gold rings pierced into his left ear. He was dressed like a guardsman in light, leather armour with a sword hanging from his belt.

He didn't say anything as he disappeared up the steps to the palace, but flashed a grin at Anradin as he passed. His teeth looked impossibly white in his dark face.

The young Tarkaan glared.

Shasta knew that look. The crimson bearded man was furious.

Badr seemed to read it too, for he asked;

"You seem displeased, dearest son."

"You have invited a foreigner?" Andradin sneered, "O my father, moon of my life, is such a thing wise?"

"Blessed son," said the old Tarkaan, "Magnus has been good friend and council to me since I sailed over the glittering seas in my youth. Now he has come to help fulfill a most ardent dream!"

"Dream?"

"Yes," Badr's smile was huge, "Surely it is a dream sent by Tash himself, for it was wondrous! For three months I have had the same vision. A full map of the night sky, drawn with the detail and art only an astronomer of Magnus' caliber could attain."

"Calormen has many fine astronomers, my father," Anradin did not seem impressed, "Why employ the talents of this barbarian?"

"Be wary of thy words, my dearest son," Badr's tone became commanding, clearly this man was used to being obeyed, "He has my respect and I shall expect the son of my flesh to afford him the grace owed such a master. I am still head of this household."

Properly cowed by his father's words, or so it seemed, Anradin bowed his head in assent and gestured for Badr to enter the palace first. As the older man walked away, Shasta quickly ducked his head, for Anradin's gaze had fallen in his direction. He could feel the intensity of his stare as though it were a hot poker. He squeezed his eyes shut, silently begging not to be noticed.

Nothing happened for a long while and Shasta hazarded a glace up to see the Tarkaan was speaking to one of the servant.

A few moments later, Anradin swept up the steps and into the palace, his expression something between grim and irritable. As he and the others disappeared from sight, the rest of the servants and slaves began to disperse. Shasta got to his feet quickly, eager to get back to the stables.

"Not you," a gruff voice said, laying a hard hand on his shoulder. Shasta looked round to find himself face to face with the head of the household servants, the same heavy man Anradin had whispered to not minutes before.

"Sir?" Shasta chocked out, confused.

"You'll serve the Tarkaans and their guests," he said, "Go round to the kitchens and get yourself cleaned up and outfitted accordingly. _Go_."

Shasta didn't dare disobey, he ran to do as he was told.

A short time later he was dressed in the white of the house servants, his blonde hair slightly damp and a truly foul smelling perfume had been sprayed generously onto him. He carried a tray laden with fresh fruits, dates and honey soaked cakes. His stomach rumbled at the display of food, which was more than he had seen altogether in his life.

He followed three other servants, all of them carrying just as much food on their trays, through the palace. Shasta had never actually been inside before and couldn't quite help staring. Everywhere he looked there was richness and colour. The tiles marble beneath his feet boasted an intricate pattern, the large windows that looked out into the blue lake were framed with golden gauze, cushioned alcoves and silken carpets were abound.

And then they came to the hall where the Tarkaan's dined.

Shasta couldn't help but gape.

He had never seen anything so grand in his life. The room was tiled in blue and white, each piece sporting part of an intricate pattern. Even the high ceilings were painted with beautiful floral designs. In the hot climate of Calormen, the room had been build to provide coolness and Shasta could smell a light perfumed scent in the air.

The two Tarkaans and the man Magnus sat together on silken cushions, each holding a cup of cool sherbet and selecting foods from the servant's trays as they came. Shasta followed the example of the others, kneeling before each man in turn and not looking up at their faces. He wondered where the tall, dark man Fezile had disappeared.

Because he was not looking at their faces, he missed the dark look that crossed Badr's face and the stern glare he sent his son. As it was, he did hear the old Tarkaan say in a light tone;

"Here's a face I haven't seen before. You there! Take his burden from him. Boy, come here."

Shasta blinked, looking up in surprise his tray was lifted away from him and he was ushered towards Badr. He didn't dare look at Anradin, so he found himself staring directly at the old Tarkaan. Now he was closer, he could see Badr's face was lined and that he had had a scar running down his right cheek.

A very odd expression crossed the old Tarkaan's face suddenly, something like surprise, but it was very quickly masked and Shasta was sure he had imagined it.

"A new slave?" Badr said off-handedly, eyes darting to his son, "Quite small, isn't he?"

"Perhaps," Anradin did not look pleased at being questioned.

"Come closer," Badr beckoned to Shasta, who obeyed quickly, unwilling to receive another cuff about the ear. The Tarkaan took him by the chin when he was close enough and inspected Shasta like he was a horse at market. He checked his teeth, felt for the muscles in his arms and peered into his eyes. Shasta stared back, which seemed to please him. It was only when the Tarkaan let go of Shasta's face that he remembered he was supposed to keep his eyes downcast.

 _Too late now_ , he supposed, not lowering them.

"A bit of spirit, I see," Badr muttered and then in a louder voice asked, "Your name, boy?"

"Shasta," he answered, still not looking away.

"Hmm, a Calormene name," he said, "Where are you from?"

"I grew up in a fishing village, four days south from here," Shasta said truthfully, though the Tarkaan's eyes widened.

"Indeed?" he looked curious, "Then what of your parents? Where did they come from?"

"I-I never knew them," Shasta tried to sound detached, but failed miserably, "I was raised by Arsheesh, the fisherman."

Badr frowned slightly and Shasta thought there might be sympathy in his eyes, but that might just be wishful thinking. The man, Magnus, was staring at him too. He wondered if this man thought him a 'northern barbarian.'

The question of parents brought a tight feeling to his chest. The sting of Arsheesh's betrayal and lies still lingered and was mixed now with an odd sense of longing. Was his real father the dead man in the boat? That seemed to be the most likely. Perhaps his whole family had perished in the sea? And how would he ever know for sure? He was _just_ a slave now.

Suddenly, Shasta felt very alone in the world.

His eyes started stinging without him meaning them too. He blinked rapidly several times and fought to keep the tears from falling. He'd felt humiliated enough.

"Well, I'm sure you'll work hard," Badr said, not unkindly.

Shasta nodded, sensing he was being dismissed and stepped back from the Tarkaan. Anradin was watching the exchange, his expression blank.

Shasta, unsure of what to do, went to kneel beside the other servants, but was stopped by Anradin. He made Shasta sit near him, holding a tray out for him to eat from. Shasta knew his arms would start to ache soon, but he dared not utter a word. All the time, he was very aware of Badr's piercing gaze and the uncomfortable looks Magnus sent his way.

He ignored it though, instead tuning in to the conversation the three were having, for it was unlike anything Shasta had ever heard before.

Badr was describing the dream he had had in vivid detail that had sent him to seek out Magnus, an old friend from his youth. The two laughed together, recalling youthful exploits and adventures across the Eastern Sea. Shasta, who had dreamed of the north all his life, had grown up beside that same sea. He'd never seen anything in it but endlessness, but the way these men described it, he too wished he could set sail on a boat into the unknown. As they spoke though, Shasta began to wonder about other things. He was carried away by it all so much in fact, that he quite forgot where he was.

"What's an astronomer?" Shasta blurted out before he could stop himself.

Anradin looked like he was going to hit him and had started to raise a hand to do so, but Magnus smiled warmly and answered.

"I study the stars, boy," he said, cutting off Anradin from his purpose, his blue eyes oddly hard, "I make maps and charts of the night sky, I look for changes in the heavens, you see. I also do a bit of navigation and cartography."

"A bit?" Badr looked amused, "Why friend, I should wager you are the most sought out mapmaker in all the world!"

Magnus actually blushed and gave Badr a friendly smack on the arm.

"I'll have none of that Calormene flattery," he stated, but winked at Shasta.

Shasta almost smiled, liking the man.

He couldn't quite turn up his lips though, because Anradin suddenly grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. The tray fell from his hands, clattering to the ground and spraying food all over the fine carpets. This seemed to enrage the Tarkaan all the more.

"Silence dog," he hissed in Shasta's ear and turned to his father and Magnus, "I must show this slave his _new_ task and it appears, give him a lesson on when not to speak!"

Badr didn't say anything, but Shasta thought his expression became darker. He wondered if it was directed at Anradin…or him. The Tarkaan merely waved his son off and Shasta found himself being yanked by his shirt.

 _New task?_ He wondered, suddenly afraid, _whatever could he mean by that?_

 **~.~**

Servants scurried around to clean up the mess made by Anradin's temper. Magnus found himself standing by one of the large windows, looking down into the yard to see if Anradin would take the boy out that way. The sight of him had startled the old astronomer more than he would like to admit. Although foreigners or 'barbarians' weren't exactly rare in Calormen and slaves were certainly abundant, they were still an uncommon enough sight to draw attention.

"Your son leaves soon, doesn't he?" Magnus drawled.

Badr nodded solemnly.

"Another war," he said wearily, "An uprising, I'm told. His letter wasn't very explicit, but I thought it best to relocate here before he disappears from my sight once more."

Magnus clicked his tongue.

"He'll be fine, I'm sure," he told his friend, "You did teach him everything you know."

Badr laughed outright.

"I taught him everything _he_ knows," the smile faded, "Well, perhaps not everything."

Magnus smiled slightly at that, knowing that was Badr's way of apologizing on his son's behalf. Calormene were odd ones.

"Your elder son is better mannered," Magnus remarked.

"Anradin is too much like his mother," Badr said good humouredly, "Far too serious."

"Down right nasty," the astronomer drawled.

"Ah, she was a bit sour, I suppose," the old Tarkaan laughed to himself.

"Never knew what you saw in her," Magnus continued.

"She was very beautiful. And young," Badr shrugged, "I was flattered."

"You old dog," his friend mocked.

The Tarkaan shot him an unrepentant smirk and the two old friends fell into laughter, continuing to tease one another about their past, romantic faux pas. Magnus' gaze found itself wandering out the window again. The slave boy had appeared in the courtyard with Andradin. The young Tarkaan was standing over him, the child's shoulders slumped a little in defeat as he listened to his master berate him. Magnus sighed internally and turned his gaze. It was much easier that way.

"This map of yours is the largest project I've ever been given," he commented, "I hope you're prepared to see my ugly face every morning for a long while."

"And who better to spend my old age with?" Badr teased, "We shall spend the time between chasing pretty serving girls and giving my son grief!"

"I don't think your son would agree with your plans," Magnus pointed out sardonically, "He wasn't too impressed with my presence in his home."

Badr gave a dismissive laugh.

"Ah, but Tash himself has ordained your presence here, _that_ he cannot argue with."

The old astronomer quirked an eyebrow at his old friend.

"Truly? You believe your god wishes me to draw a map for you?" Magnus shook his head, "For what purpose, I wonder."

"I have faith, my old friend," Badr said with a wink, causing Magnus to shake his head.

"I remember your faith," he returned, his tone playful, "I went to bed hungry quite a few nights because of your _faith_."

Badr shook his head.

"Always stuck in your books," he laughed, "One day, faith will find you and there won't be a word in all your tomes to help you make sense of it!"

"Bah!" Magnus snorted disbelievingly, his gaze trailing after the slave boy.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow."_

\- Proverb

 **Dreamers**

"Corin? Corin are you listening to me?"

Prince Corin of Archenland snapped out of his thoughts as the voice berated him and turned a guilty look at his father. It probably wasn't a good idea to fall asleep at the breakfast table, after all.

"I'm sorry Father," he said sheepishly to King Lune, "I was somewhere else entirely."

"So I see," Lune chuckled, reaching across the table to ruffle his son's hair, "I was just reminding you not to be late for your lessons this evening. _Again_."

Corin frowned slightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the reminder.

"Have the Narnians sent word of their arrival?" he asked instead.

"Yes, both the queens will be coming," Lune said, a fond smile on his face for the Narnian monarchs, "The High King, unfortunately, has business that calls him to the north and as you know, there must always be someone at Cair Paravel."

Though Corin was a little disappointed not to see Peter or Edmund, he was excited nonetheless.

"Now, are you going to tell me what had you up so late this morning?" Lune inquired, "Hmm? Not sneaking out to the boxing rings again, are we?"

Corin blushed at the reprimand. He'd been caught three times sneaking out of the castle to go watch the city boxing matches. Lord Darren hadn't been too pleased.

"I haven't gone in weeks!" he stated, crossing his arms, "If you must know, I've been having very odd dreams."

"Odd dreams?" Lune repeated, concerned, "Nightmares?"

Corin shook his head and sighed.

"No, not nightmares," he muttered, "Just…confusing."

He shot his father a smile.

"Perhaps I'm just looking forward to Queen Susan and Lucy visiting. Do you know if Mr. Tumnus will accompany them?"

His father confirmed this and after finishing breakfast together, the king and prince both went to start their days.

King Lune was a round, jolly looking fellow. His brown hair and beard were streaked with grey and never had Corin seen his father look truly angry with anyone. The closest he came was perhaps a kind of stern disappointment. They said the old king had been an accomplished warrior in his youth, fierce and proud. Corin had a hard time picturing it for himself.

He did not look much like his father, having inherited his mother's dark blonde hair and inquisitive green eyes, though that he'd had to take his father's word for. The queen had passed away when Corin was very little and all he truly remembered about her was a sad smile and a gentle voice.

"You will let me know if the dreams persist," Lune said finally, "It wouldn't do for you to lose any unnecessary sleep that would deprive your tutors of your presence."

Corin had the decency to blush.

"You wound me sir!" he declared, drawing laughter from his father.

"Off with you, rascal," Lune gave him a nudge, "Go! I'm sure you'll cause as much trouble as you please and I'll hear all about it in due time."

It was Corin's turn to laugh, but he did as he was told, running off in the direction of the castle grounds.

"And try not to get into any fights!" he heard his father call as he rounded the corner.

He huffed.

Well how was he ever to become a better boxer if he didn't get into fights?

It was widely acknowledged by the inhabitants of Cair Anvard that Corin was a rather boisterous prince. He was brash and impulsive, always eluding his guardians in favour of finding some adventure or other. Why, he'd been caught three times visiting the brawling rings at the docks! And then there was the incident with the son of the Ambassador from Doorn. _Shocking!_

But he was also a generous soul, likely a trait he had picked up from his father, and had a light, free loving nature that made him quite likable, despite all the terribly shocking things he did.

He tore out to the castle grounds, straight to his archery teacher. Madam Sera was a stern faced woman who disliked tardiness. She had a voice like a whip and a very dry sense of humour. Corin liked her, though his archery skills weren't much to speak of and he hardly ever hit the target right.

She'd just shake her head, tell him to keep practicing and excuse him for his next lesson. From there, Corin would either go horseback riding, learn jousting and fencing, listen to Lord Darren lecture him on morality and time management or attend lessons in hand to hand combat from a very eager faun named Archie. The latter, of course, was always his favourite.

So most of his days would pass, broken only by the odd bit of mischief or adventure he could get away with. Or sometimes, he'd find himself curling up under an ancient oak tree for an afternoon nap.

These were the long summers of Archenland. In the winter he'd spend a lot less time outdoors, remaining cooped up in the castle learning about diplomacy, law and history. These subjects rarely interested the young prince, save for when the discussion about battles came around. Corin so dearly wanted to be in a real battle. It must be glorious!

His teacher would smile wanly and ask him to repeat the oath of kingship, given to the first king of Narnia, Frank I, centuries ago by Aslan and carried forth to Archenland by King Col I.

He would scrunch up his nose, but do so without too much complaint. It was not that he disliked the oath, but just what it meant.

Corin, at the ripe old age of twelve, had decided that being king of Archenland was not for him. This was not to say he wouldn't do it if he had to, his father had instilled enough responsibility in him to acknowledge that. It was just that he couldn't properly imagine himself as ever being king. He wanted to have grand adventures. He wanted to sail the Eastern Sea, explore the wilds of the far north and perhaps even discover what lay beyond the Southern Waste. He wanted to fight giants and sea monsters, save damsels in distress (whatever that meant) and break wicked curses. All those things would be quite impossible if he was king!

 _I shall just have to enjoy being a prince for as long as I can_ , he decided, and would run off to find a new adventure to get into.

In the late afternoon, he lay out under his oak tree, staring up through the leaves at a blue sky. He started to doze, but fought off the call of sleep for as long as he could.

His dreams were the troubling thing. They were all different in many ways, taking place in palaces, near the sea and even across the desert. But always they had one with in common. Corin was always chasing after a boy around his own age. He had the same head of tawny blonde hair as Corin, but the prince could never quite get a look at his face. Each time, just as Corin would reach out to grab him, the boy would disappear. In the first few dreams, the boy would laugh as he darted away, like it was all a game.

" _Wait!" the young prince panted, tearing across a sandy beach, his bare feet slapping in the waves, "Wait for me!"_

 _The sky overhead was filled with stars, brighter than any Corin had ever seen before. Moonlight danced across the waves of the dark sea, colouring it in silver sheen. The gentle breeze that breathed along the coast was salty and fresh._

 _Corin stopped running, letting the water lap gently at his feet. It felt cool and oddly peaceful._

 _He realized the other boy had stopped running too. He was only a few feet ahead. Corin took a step forward, and as he did, so did the boy. He stopped dead in his tracks, not daring to move._

" _Why can't I catch you?" he asked loudly, "Why do you run?"_

 _The boy's head turned slightly at the question, but not enough for Corin to see his face. He didn't say anything though, just looked up at the stars. The prince turned his gaze too and saw there was one star shining brighter than all the rest._ _Slowly,_ _the boy's arm stretched up and he pointed to the star._

" _I don't understand!" Corin exclaimed, perplexed, "What are you trying to tell me? Damn it! Why does this have to be so strange?"_

 _The boy just kept pointing, and as he did, Corin realized it wasn't one star he was pointing to, but two. Two very bright stars that were very close to each other. In fact, the rest of the sky seemed to be darkening around them, leaving only those two heavenly bodies._

 _In the encroaching darkness, Corin looked back at the other boy and realized he was starting to turn around fully. In a second, he'd see his face. Corin held his breath, waiting for the moment…_

And that's when he woke up.

 **~.~**

Shasta drudged back to the stables, weary and stressed. The Tarkaan had indeed had a new task for him. He was to break the young black colt before the next full moon or he would be sent to work in the fields. Never mind that he knew nothing about breaking a horse. He kept remembering Abdar's words. He didn't want to go to the fields, to be worked until he couldn't stand, to be beaten and abused by the taskmaster. He'd seen the condition of the field slaves and he would rather be dead.

He crept into his hayloft bed that night, waiting for everyone to leave so he could speak with his friend about the day's events.

Bree guessed the right of it, as usual; that the reason Shasta had been so suddenly called to serve in the big house was because of his white skin.

"He wanted to put Badr's guest in his place," the horse huffed knowledgably, "And without actually saying anything! He's a sly one."

"Why does he dislike Northerners so much?" Shasta frowned, "He doesn't even know Magnus! He's judging him on the colour of his skin!"

"Oh I suspect it goes both ways," Bree snorted, "Humans are very good at finding things to dislike about each other. No one said it had to be rational."

Shasta crossed his arms, disliking the notion in its entirely. He thought back to his own experiences, wondering if he had ever judged someone in such a way. But he hadn't really been aware there was anything different about him before the Tarkaan had come to the fishermen's house. It all seemed a rather silly, adult conception to him. He let out a sigh then and tried to focus on his next problem.

"But how am I to break a horse?" he asked.

Bree looked affronted.

"Break a horse? Break a horse! You get that codswallop out of your head! You won't be breaking any horse, you'll be training him," he said with authority.

"But how am I to do that!"

"In exactly the way you've been learning to ride," Bree told him, "With patience and trust. Now, come here, we'll begin right away."

The young black horse stood in the kraal, looking as displeased and haughty as a horse could. He was called Farzin and it was not the first time someone had come to try his luck at taming the stubborn creature. Shasta had seen one of the other stable hands walking away with a bruised side after being thrown three times.

With Bree's words of advice, Shasta set off first thing to begin training Farzin. He took the apple he'd been given for his own breakfast and offered it to the young stallion. He waited patiently, letting Farzin come to him.

It took time, and all Shasta did for the first few days, was get the horse used to him. He brushed his coat, fed him and spoke to him softly. Soon, as soon as Shasta was in sight, Farzin would gallop to the fence and stick his head out expectantly.

Shasta took everything as slowly as he dared, always aware of the looming timeline. On top of this task, he was also expected to keep up with his usual chores in the stables. More than once he had to stay out late, working with Farzin to get him used to the bit and then the saddle.

On one such night, he had just shut the gate to the enclosure when he realized there was someone standing close by. He was surprised to see it was the astronomer Magnus. He had his hand behind his back and was looking up at the night sky. Shasta followed his gaze, finding his yes drawn to a single star that shone far brighter than all the rest.

"The North Star," Magnus said.

"Sir?" Shasta asked, confused.

"There," he pointed at that bright star, "That's the North Star. It never moves from its place in the heavens. A good friend to a navigator."

Shasta nodded, unsure of why the man was speaking to him.

"I've seen you out with that horse every night," Magnus continued, "I was curious as to why?"

Shasta shifted uncomfortably, but explained as best he could. If the astronomer was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully.

"Good luck then lad," he said and was gone.

Shasta remained behind a little longer, staring up at the North Star.

 **~.~**

Corin climbed up the stairs of the South Tower, his books gripped under his arm. He'd never had much interest in astronomy, but it seemed to be one of those things a prince was _expected_ to know. It had been days since he'd had a dream about that boy. Now, all he saw when he closed his eyes were those two stars.

His tutor greeted him with a smile as he entered.

"Ah! My prince! So you didn't get lost after all!"

Corin chuckled sheepishly.

"Not this time Ramus," he acknowledged.

Ramus had been around for as long as anyone could remember. He was old, thin and half deaf. He gestured with a crooked hand for Corin to sit down and turned to adjust his telescope. The room had all sorts of measuring devices for studying the night sky as well as piles of charts and books.

For an hour, Corin's time was divided between peering through the telescope and writing down his observations. All the time, Ramus would drone on about the history behind each star or planet.

"Now Lune," he began, "The theory of-"

"Its Corin, Ramus," the young prince sighed; gently reminding the old tutor he was not teaching his father.

"What? Oh yes. Yes, of course," Ramus paused, considering Corin, "You do look remarkably like your father when he was your age."

"Really?" Corin asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, yes," Ramus smiled nostalgically, "You have Queen Eleanor's colouring, but you have your father's features through and through. Why, you're quite identical."

Corin smiled politely and returned to his study of the night sky. After a few minutes, something caught his eye and he turned the telescope slightly. He frowned.

It was the two stars!

He hadn't noticed them before, for they were part of a small cluster of stars, but there they were! Exactly as he remembered them, though he noticed one was more golden in colour than the second.

"Ramus!" he exclaimed, "Do you know what those two stars are?"

"What?" the old tutor exclaimed.

Corin patiently showed him.

"Those two?" he asked, "The two bright ones hanging in the south?"

Corin nodded.

The tutor smiled, seeming glad the prince was taking an interest in the night sky.

"Those two stars are part of the constellation known as 'the Twins,'" he explained, "They are the brothers, Castor and Pollux."

"Twins?" Corin repeated, something stirring inside him. He couldn't quite identify what that feeling was, but he knew it was important. He stared out into the night sky, his gaze focused on those two stars.

Just what was that boy trying to tell him?

"Ah yes, twin brothers," Ramus looked sad all of a sudden, "Poor Cor. Poor boy."

Corin's head snapped round.

"Who?" he asked.

But Ramus was already talking about something to do with the trajectory of Pollux in regards to Castor. Corin frowned, but let it go, only eager to be done for the evening. After all, it was all just a lot of silly dreams.

 **~.~**

Things with Farzin seemed to be going well. Shasta could take the horse on long walks without much trouble, leading him along by his reins. He had eased into the feeling of being saddled and seemed to trust Shasta. Even the Groom seemed surprised by Shasta's progress and commented that the young stallion should be ready to try riding soon. Bree kept up his encouragement and advice. For once, Shasta was sure everything was going to be okay.

He often found he had spectators when he was working with Farzin. Sometimes there was the older slave boy who liked to scowl and jeer at him. Shasta had come to learn his name was Stavros. He was a pointy faced, pockmarked youth with olive skin, dark curly hair and dark eyes. He was a Telmarine and worked in the fields. As a result, he often looked scraped and beaten. Shasta didn't pay attention to his taunts, seeing the person he might well become if he failed this task.

Mostly though, it was Magnus' companion Fezile who stood watching at the edge of the fence. His black eyes always there, boring into Shasta as he worked.

And then, when Shasta still had over a week before the next full moon, Anradin appeared. He eyes Shasta as he worked and announced;

"You will demonstrate in an hour."

Shasta was shocked.

"But-but-" he started to protest.

"An hour," Anradin announced, glaring at the boy.

Shasta ducked his head.

"Y-yes Tarkaan," he said quickly.

Anradin stalked away and Shasta wanted to cry! He didn't have time to go speak with Bree, he'd just have to try riding Farzin and hoping for the best. He spent the hour talking quietly to the horse as he saddled and readied him. His hands shook a little as he did so. Farzin raised his head in Shasta's direction, his dark eyes steady and concerned. Shasta stroked his nose gently.

"I wish you could speak too Farzin," he said, and half of him hoped that as it had been with Bree, the young stallion would start to talk. But of course, Farzin had only been sensing Shasta's own nerves, not the cause of them. He tried to calm himself down, knowing the horse could sense his unease.

 _I can't make him feel uncomfortable_ , he reminded himself, _patience and kindness, Bree said._

Over the course of the next hour, a small group of spectators gathered. These included Fezile and Magnus, some of the guards, Stavros, a few of the stable hands and the Groom. They gathered around the fence of the enclosure, muttering excitedly to one another. Then Anradin arrived and it was time.

Shasta mounted Farzin, speaking gently and easing the horse into the feel of having a rider. Farzin seemed fine, so Shasta led him into a walk. The stable hands grinned at him approvingly, which gave Shasta a little courage. He even saw Bree, who was being led out to graze. The man with his reins had stopped to watch the spectacle. He looked encouraging and Shasta gained more confidence from that. Until he saw Anradin that is.

The Tarkaan was watching him with a glare on his face. The hatred so palatable, Shasta almost flinched. It was then he realized that Anradin had _wanted_ him to fail. He had intended it as some sort of lesson. If Shasta had lost the bet, he knew he'd be on his knees right now, begging his master for mercy and promising him anything. Shasta actually succeeding had not been part of Anradin's plans and he likely would come up with something worse in the future. If there was one thing he had learned about the Tarkaan, displeasing him led to nasty consequences. Shasta suddenly felt sick as real fear shot through him.

 _What was going to happen to him now?_

There was a screech and something small and furry shot out in front of Farzin. The stallion, startled by the noise and the sudden appearance of a small creature under hoof, reared back. The creature – a cat, Shasta had a second to realize – hissed and growled, frightening the horse even more. Shasta hung on for dear life as Farzin bucked and rose up on his back legs.

Unfortunately, Shasta wasn't strong enough to hang on for long and was thrown from the saddle. As he landed on the ground, his right leg burst into pain and he screamed. He heard yells as someone rushed in to grab the horse's reigns before Farzin could trample Shasta.

Someone else was fussing around him, trying to get Shasta up, but the pain got worse, making the boy cry out.

"Can he stand?" a curt voice barked. _Anradin._

A firm hand gripped his leg and Shasta nearly passed out.

"His leg is injured," it was one of the guards, "I don't know how badly."

"Take care of him," the tone was dismissive, but oddly gleeful, "I'll see to him later."

"Yes Tarkaan," the voice affirmed, then, "You there, help me with him!"

Another pair of arms lifted the dazed Shasta from the ground. He heard a commotion in the background and the groom's voice.

"Easy Arash!" he was calling, "What has gotten into you today?"

 _Bree_ , thought Shasta blearily, _don't cause trouble. Please_.

He hissed in pain when the person on his right kicked his leg, he turned his head to see it was Stravos. An unfriendly smile twisted his lips.

"You're done now," he hissed in Shasta's ear, "Can't work with a leg like that. You'll be got rid of."

Shasta's mouth gaped open and his eyes widened. Would that really happen? What would the Tarkaan do with him? Sell him? He'd be separated from Bree! Tears, from pain or fear he didn't know, started to work their way down his cheeks, blurring his vision and making his breathing shallow.

"Well that's not going to help his leg get any better, is it?" snapped a familiar voice. Shasta and the other boy's head shot towards the speaker. It was the astronomer. Magnus' sharp blue eyes were focused on them, a wry sort of smile on his face.

"Out of the way, barbarian," the guard announced, "We're busy."

Magnus held up his hands.

"My man has some healing knowledge," he said, "Better you bring him to my rooms if you want a chance at patching that leg up. That lad next you doesn't seem to be helping."

Suddenly, Fezile appeared almost out of nowhere and had scooped Shasta into his arms like he was nothing. Maybe he was in comparison to the giant of a man.

He didn't remember much about the trip to the astronomer's room. He could hear the guard arguing, Magnus' dry response and could smell ink and wax. He was laid down on something soft – a bed, he realized with a start – and told to lie still. He didn't move, feeling suddenly tired and weak from the pain.

"Please," he mumbled out, thinking of what the other boy had said, "I don't want to be got rid of, I'll work, I'll be useful."

"Hush lad, you'll be fine," said the giant.

"Listen carefully, anything I ask you, _say yes_ ," it was Magnus, his hand suddenly gripping Shasta by the shoulder, "Understand?"

Shasta tried to concentrate.

"Wha-?"

"You say yes, understood?" blue eyes glinted at him.

Shasta nodded his head, hiccupping a little from crying.

"Good," the pressure on his shoulder eased, "Good. I'm going to give you something to ease the pain. Just stay quiet and we'll take care of you."

And for the first time in a long time, Shasta felt safe.

 **~.~**

Shasta woke to shouting.

His eyes snapped open, not even the dull ache in his leg was able to distract him from the sight he beheld. It was Magnus. Blue eyes blazing, hair as wild as ever and throwing around papers, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Shasta struggled to sit up in bed, pain shooting through his leg at the movement. He hissed quietly, and stilled, waiting for it to pass. He noticed that someone had wrapped and splinted the limb, though he couldn't remember when it had happened. The pain eased slowly and he was able to turn his attention to the ruckus going on around him.

Magnus was yelling at a middle aged Calormene man. He was short, with a lined face and stood with a stoop. He was trying to calm the astronomer down, but Magnus was having none of it.

"Useless!" he growled, "You're utterly useless! Go back to your master and tell him I want someone else!"

The man's lips twisted in a suppressed frown, but he nodded, bowing his head and exciting the room. Magnus straightened, turning to his companion and winked. Fezile looked amused.

A second later, Anradin came thumping through the door, his expression livid. He eyed Magnus, before his sharp gaze traveled to Shasta and his lips curled up, barring his teeth. He took a step towards the boy, but Magnus was in his face a moment later.

"There you are!" he cried, waving his arms in the air angrily, "Your father told you to appoint me an assistant, not an idiot!"

Anradin looked surprised at the address, but that was soon hidden behind a cool mask.

"There is a problem?" he sneered.

"Yes, there's a problem!" Magnus stated dramatically, "The man you sent me can't even put two and two together, he's messed up my papers, spilled ink on my favourite map, threw my telescope out of alignment -"

"And what would you have me do about it?" Anradin stated coldly, his irritation starting to show. He kept glancing at Shasta, "I'm here to deal with the boy, not your petty problems."

"What boy?" Magnus craned his neck around as though seeing Shasta for the first time, "Oh, yes of course. Take him. _Take him!_ I can't be bothered with these things right now."

Anradin took a step towards Shasta, but was halted again by Magnus.

"But first, your father ordered you to get me anything I needed and I need an assistant!" Shasta thought he sounded a bit like a tempestuous child, stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum like this. It wasn't how he had expected the man to act at all.

"You have your man," the Tarkaan pointed out.

Magnus waved him off.

"The only thing he's good for is heavy lifting!" he exclaimed, "I am an artist. A _scientist!_ I can't be expected to work in these conditions! I'll go take my leave of your father and-"

"What is it you want exactly? Whatever it is, take it! Take it and be done!" Anradin snarled through gritted teeth, apparently the threat of his father's displeasure was worse than taking orders from a barbarian.

"Well, I don't want you to go without an able bodied servant," Magnus looked deliberately thoughtful, as though he were really contemplating the issue, "Ah, I have a solution. I'll take the cripple."

He gestured to Shasta.

Anradin's expression thundered.

"And what good is a fisherman's brat going to be to a scientist?" he asked dangerous.

"You might be surprised," Magnus looked at Shasta, "Your arms still work, don't they boy?"

"Y-yes!" Shasta said quickly, remembering Magnus' words from the previous night.

"And can you read? Do you know your numbers?"

"Yes!" Shasta lied.

"There!" Magnus said triumphantly, "I'll take him. You can go now, Tarkaan."

Anradin's dark skin turned darker as he flushed with rage.

"He is my slave!"

"Oh, so you'll go back on your word now? You did say I could take anything I needed, did you not? Well, this is a fine kettle of fish, isn't it? Absolutely unprofessional! Fine! Take him back then and tell your father I can't work like this! I really can't!"

Anradin struggled for a moment, clearly not liking where this conversation was going. Shasta just watched, caught as two men bargained for his future.

 _Please,_ he prayed silently, _please let me stay with the astronomer. Oh please!_

He hadn't liked the nasty look in Anradin's face when he first saw Shasta.

"Fine! Fine! Fine!" the Tarkaan had finally lost his temper, "Take him and curse you!"

With that, Anradin turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

There was silence for about five seconds before Magnus clapped his hands together and laughed out loud.

"Well," he said finally, "That was actually easier than I thought it would be. He didn't inherit much from his father, but he's certainly as easy to fluster."

Fezile chuckled, it sounded like stones rolling around.

"Now then," Magnus turned to Shasta, "How's that leg of yours?"

"B-better, sir," Shasta piped up, " Thank you. Thank you for what you did! But - but sir, I can't read or-"

"Don't worry about that right now," the astronomer said kindly, his wild hair still sticking up in all directions, "You'll stay here now, understand?"

"Here?" Shasta questioned, confused.

"Yes, you'll sleep right here," he patted the cot.

"But your bed-" Shasta started, only to be cut off with a chuckle.

"I sleep in one of the guest rooms," he said, "I just keep this here in case I become too engrossed in my work and need a nap. You can use it. You'll live and work in this room. For now though, we'll concentrate on getting that leg to rights."

"I -" Shasta tried really hard not to cry, but it was difficult, "Th-thank you."

 **~.~**

A/N: As we're not given much in regards to Narnian cosmology, I will be borrowing some from our world. Fun fact, Castor and Pollux are of course, the constellation of Gemini, and were part of the inspiration for Cor/Shasta and Corin. Twin brothers, one a horseman and one a boxer, sound familiar? Also, Gemini is ruled by Mercury. If you've ever read Michael Ward's _Planet Narnia_ , he proposed that each of the books was based around one of the seven heavenly bodies found in medieval astronomy. _The Horse and His Boy_ is based around Mercury. Ward's book was pretty much the inspiration for Magnus' character with the little I remember about the history of medieval astronomy and science from uni. So let's have a little fun with it.

Thanks for reading!


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